


The Five Calls Steve Might Have Received and the One He Finally Did

by pyrrhical (anoyo)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: 5+1 Things, M/M, Major Character Death Only in One Scenario, Spoilers: Captain America: Civil War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-06
Updated: 2018-04-06
Packaged: 2019-04-08 05:04:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14097846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anoyo/pseuds/pyrrhical
Summary: A 5+1 things fic about Tony using the phone Steve gave him at the end of Civil War. Mostly pre- or implied-slash.





	The Five Calls Steve Might Have Received and the One He Finally Did

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Impala_Chick](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Impala_Chick/gifts).



> Dear recipient: I hope you enjoy this! There's an alternate version of number 4, which I've put up as a treat! I tried to give a realistic split on emotions in this, but considering how Civil War ended, it's a little bit angstier than I intended.
> 
> Beta'd by the magnificent [ceruleansky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceruleansky) and [dirty_diana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dirty_diana). They both kicked this fic's butt into something actually readable.

1\. 

Steve was in the process of purchasing a latte from a small cafe on the Port of Ngqura when he felt a vibrating start up in his pocket. There were a few people who knew how to get a hold of him -- who had his private cell phone number. 

Bucky, of course, and T’Challa, for much the same reason. If Steve was needed there, it would be far too late by the time Shuri and Okoye tracked him down. Sharon had the number so she could keep him regularly apprised on the world, even as he hid from it. Sam -- well, Sam just had the number. He was Sam.

Steve dropped a couple bills on the counter, smiling at the young woman behind the register, before he moved down the bar to wait for his drink. He reached into his pocket to pull out his phone, but when his hand brushed it, it was still. Against it, something else continued to vibrate.

The other phone, for which only Tony had the number. The emergency phone.

Steve had it out of his pocket and to his ear before the thought had even fully sharpened in his mind. “Tony?” he asked.

“Yes,” Tony answered. Steve didn’t recognize the tone of his voice; it was one he’d never heard before, and so he couldn’t give it context.

“What’s wrong?” Steve barely noticed when the bar called his name, a name, the one Steve was using at the moment. He picked up his coffee as an afterthought.

There was a pause on the other end of the line, the silence complete the way only silence on the other end of a phone call can be. Then, “Who knows?” Tony’s tone hadn’t changed, but the words echoed oddly, like a call made in 1944 rather than the clear connections Steve had finally become used to.

“Tony?” Steve asked again.

Another pause before Tony said, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have called.”

Steve waited a moment, but Tony didn’t say anything else, and the silence on the line was somehow sharper than before.

“Goodbye, Steve,” Tony said.

The disembodied words startled Steve, and before he could finish his, “Tony, wait--” the line had gone dead.

 

2\. 

A small chime woke Steve. He rolled over, and watched a lit screen fade back to black.

Steve glanced at the digital clock and saw that it was nearly time to rise, the numbers reading a clear 06:23. He glanced back over at the phone. 

It was the emergency phone, but it had only chimed, not rung. He picked up the phone to see if it had gone straight to voicemail, but it hadn’t. Instead, there was a text notification. He pressed a few buttons to call up the text. It wasn’t a touch screen phone, but Tony had shown him how to use even the older cell phones, saying, “Not everyone has tech like mine.”

It had been ego, but Steve had to admit that it had turned out to be a worthwhile study.

 **332-555-8640**  
Pepper keeps stocking my kitchen with eggplants. I hate eggplant. Does that count as an emergency?

Steve stared at the message for a moment before he exited out of the text, rolled over, and went back to sleep. When he woke up again, he was smiling.

The next time it happened, Steve was in line at the grocery store, a bunch of carrots, kale, and microwave lasagna in his basket.

 **332-555-8640**  
Did you know my dad bought one of the Solomon Islands? Apparently owning the island means I need to settle my tenants’ disputes. I’m officially a feudal lord.

Steve raised an eyebrow, but dropped the phone back into his pocket. He still needed bread and mustard.

The third and fourth messages both came while he was asleep a week later, the fourth only three hours after the third.

 **332-555-8640**  
If when you come back there are only 49 states, don’t be alarmed. I’m sure we’ll find it eventually.

 **332-555-8640**  
I feel the need say that I didn’t blow anything up, and this was not my fault. Newspapers lie.

A quick look through the newsfeeds had Steve laughing out loud. He only stopped when one of his neighbors started pounding on the wall.

Steve almost started to expect the messages, after a while. They were random, and he could never predict how long it would be before he got one, but he always did.

He received strange but regular updates about the team members Tony was still in contact with,

( **332-555-8640**  
I think Natasha’s hair might be sentient. No matter what she does, every time she’s at the Compound, some winds up in my bourbon.)

more random engineering facts than he really cared for, 

( **332-555-8640**  
Did you know that the torque required to twist vibranium into a spiral is actually enough to accidentally open a wormhole? I mean, there were a couple other variables involved, but still. The More You Know.)

and a lot of little facts about Tony’s life that Steve might never have known, otherwise,

( **332-555-8640**  
I don’t care what anyone else says, Aviator sunglasses go with EVERYTHING, especially mauve cashmere.)

and which he probably could have lived without.

He deleted the messages whenever he had three or more of them, but there were two that he kept.

The first came about four months into the strange, one-sided conversation.

 **332-555-8640**  
Every time I send you one of these messages, it’s because there was something that you should have been here for. 

The second came toward the end.

 **332-555-8640**  
None of these messages are what I actually want to tell you.

When the phone finally rang, it was almost a relief.

“Tony?”

 

3\. 

It had taken a while, and a great deal of paranoia, before Steve started jogging again. Hidden as he was, Steve wasn’t going to risk getting careless and caught. Sharon could reassure him a thousand times that the government was looking all the wrong places, but the hunted feeling wasn’t going away, and Steve had long since learned to trust his instincts.

The first time he went jogging, running through overgrown underbrush and sinking into spongy moss, he’d returned to his apartment feeling refreshed but disquieted. He ran through his shower more quickly than he might have, and dressed quickly. His mind was scanning his room, his memory, when his eye caught the phone sitting silently on Steve’s bedside table.

He’d left without it. Steve had run off into the woods, for hours, and left the phone behind. The rational part of him said that it wasn’t a big deal, and that if anything had happened, he was so far away that a few hours couldn’t make much of a difference. 

But a part of Steve, a part that looked a whole lot like that scrawny kid who’d been willing to jump on a grenade, panicked. Those few hours could mean life or death. Steve had given his word. He had given Tony his word that if he called, Steve would be there. 

He picked up the phone and turned on the screen, breathing out heavily when there were no missed calls or messages. When the screen was once again dark, Steve dropped the phone into his pocket, and told himself that it wouldn’t happen again.

It didn’t. Steve found ways to keep the phone with him, even when he was jogging through the woods, t-shirt and shorts not the best places for hanging onto valuables. He did it anyway.

That scrawny kid was vindicated when the phone rang, echoing strangely from his pocket into the woods around him. Steve pulled it out of his pocket and looked at it for a moment, allowing himself a deep breath before he answered.

“Tony?” he asked, his voice breathy as his heart rate slowly came back down from the run.

Silence met him. Steve could hear himself breathe, the sounds of the forest almost deafening against the silence on the line.

“Are you all right?” Steve asked. When nothing but silence met him again, he pulled the phone away from his ear to see if it was still connected. Forests weren’t always the best places for reception, and Steve kicked himself for not having thought of that earlier. What was the good in bringing the phone if it couldn’t keep a call.

The phone was still connected, the call time ticking along, the phone displaying almost full bars.

Steve took another, slower, breath. “What do you need?”

The silence continued, seconds ticking by on the screen of the phone. Steve was about to ask again when the line went dead, a soft click and then nothing He pulled the phone away again and stared at it. Maybe the connection _had_ been bad. Maybe it had been that thing when one person can hear the other, but not vice versa; Steve didn’t know what it was called, but it had happened before.

He called back, the ringing clear. He checked the phone, and it still had reception. Steve waited while the phone rang, wondering if something had happened. Maybe Tony had dialed, but been unable to talk. Maybe something was wrong, and Steve should go.

But go where? He knew he could find out -- Sharon would know -- but his gut was telling him to call back, so he did, waiting for Tony to pick up.

He didn’t. The phone rang through to voicemail, the automated voice reciting the phone number back to him and asking him to leave a message after the tone. Steve hung up, then looked at the phone again.

Once more.

Steve dialed again, the ringing settling an uncomfortable feeling inside his chest. This time, the phone only rang twice before switching to voicemail. He ended the called, taking a deep breath. Even Steve knew what it meant to be sent to voicemail.

He dropped the phone back into his pocket and stretched his arms over his head, twisting. His muscles had cooled a little, but were still limber. As he started back into his run, Steve consoled himself with the fact that Tony was still alive, and told himself that the pain in his chest was just his lungs adjusting to the sudden change back to motion.

 

4\. 

The Cape was beautiful, and Steve had taken to sketching the sun across the waves every morning. He would pick up some coffee, ignoring how his metabolism made caffeine as ineffectual as alcohol, and simply enjoying the taste. He hadn’t always liked it -- too acidic, too thick -- but his years in the war had won him over. The men had drunk it every morning, and Steve had joined in, enjoying that small way to fit in.

It was there, looking out over the Cape with a sketch pad, that Steve felt the most at peace. It was calm, the sun rising every morning over the waves. Steve could pretend he was enjoying the vacation he’d vowed to take after the war. 

The last of his coffee had cooled when the phone rang, and Steve put down the pencil he’d been using, sketch half finished.

“Tony?” Steve asked, feeling his body tense.

“That’s me,” Tony answered, voice flip. 

Steve made himself relax, starting at his shoulders. If Tony was being flip, it either wasn’t urgent, or the world was about to end, and tensing would help nothing. “What’s wrong?”

“If that isn’t a loaded question, I don’t know what is,” Tony answered.

“Why did you call me?” Steve asked, letting out a breath.

“Because I felt like it,” Tony answered. “Four months without you here to tell me all the ways I’m wrong and I think I’ve got withdrawal.”

Steve let himself grin a little. “I saw your interview on Dateline the other night. That tie was definitely wrong.”

A chuckle came through the line. “Thanks,” Tony said. 

“Any time,” Steve answered, ignoring the lie.

“I want you to come back,” Tony said. Steve shut his eyes, but before he could respond, Tony continued. “You asked what I want.”

“I’d love to,” Steve answered, “but I think I’m still wanted for treason.”

“I’m working on that,” Tony said, voice falsely casual.

“And I still can’t sign the SHRA.”

“I’m working on that,” Tony repeated. His voice had lost most of the bluff, and was instead quiet and low, with what might have been humor, but wasn’t, adding emphasis.

He took a breath, then let it out. “I’d be there tomorrow, if I could,” Steve said.

“Would you?” Tony asked.

“You know I would.”

Steve heard Tony breathe out abruptly and could see the silent laugh in his memory. “Do I?”

“I hope so,” Steve said.

“Well,” Tony said, drawing out the word, “I’ll see you when I see you. Hopefully it isn’t because the world’s falling to shit, but our luck has never been very good on that front.”

Steve clenched his jaw. “When you need me, I’ll be there.”

Tony’s voice was quiet. “I always need you.”

“Not enough for anything to change.” 

“You say that like I can snap my fingers and fix everything.”

Steve took a breath, then slowly let it out. “I’ll see you, Tony,” he said, voice soft.

“I suppose you will. The real question is whether I’ll see you.”

“Someday.”

 

5\. 

“Tony?” Steve answered, connecting the call before the first ring had finished its trill.

“No,” a female voice answered. It only took Steve a moment to recognize it.

“Natasha?”

“Yes,” she answered. “We need you in New York.”

“I’ll be there,” Steve said immediately, then, “I gave the phone to Tony.”

“I know,” Natasha said. Steve could hear movement in the background, some of it voices, some of it the unmistakable echo of small explosions, gunfire. 

“What’s happening?” he asked, tucking the phone into his shoulder as he pulled out his other phone, the one he used regularly, and pulled up T’Challa’s contact information. He pulled up a text box and began typing.

There was a bit of silence on the line, and Steve could hear Natasha talking to someone in the background, though he couldn’t make out the words. When she came back, she said, “Alien invasion. We don’t recognize them. They’re a new kind of threat. Took out most of New York before we even knew they’d arrived.”

“God,” Steve said, sending off his text. “Do we know anything else? What they want?”

“Strange said they’re after the Infinity Stones,” Natasha answered.

“The Infinity Stones? Like the one in Vision?” Steve asked, watching his phone for T’Challa’s response.

“Yes. There are six of them, and most of them wound up here. We don’t know why,” Natasha said. Steve could hear more noise, closer explosions, in the background.

“Where’s Tony? Why didn’t he call?” Steve asked. 

There was a moment of louder noise and Steve heard Natasha curse, before she said, “He told me where the phone was and asked me to do it.”

Steve glanced down at his cell, T’Challa’s reply simple and direct. Steve turned and began jogging toward the pick-up point. “So he hasn’t forgiven me,” Steve said flatly, a fact and not a question.

Another pause, but Steve didn’t hear Natasha speaking this time. After a moment, she said, “No, I think he did.”

Steve didn’t break his pace, though his chest tightened. “That’s good,” Steve said.

“Steve,” Natasha began, then stopped.

“Whatever you’re talking around, Natasha,” Steve said, the tightening in his chest cutting his breaths sharper than running ever could, “just say it.”

“He was in New York,” Natasha said, her tone of voice unchanged, as professional as it had been since Steve had picked up the phone. “The phone only survived because it was in the vault at S.I.”

Steve recognized his surroundings as only a quarter-mile from his pick up. In his pocket, the phone chimed with what Steve knew was the jet’s ETA, but he didn’t look at it, and instead took a deep breath. “He’s dead. That’s what you’re saying.” 

“Yes,” Natasha said.

“Are we--” he started.

“We’re sure,” Natasha cut off. “F.R.I.D.A.Y. confirmed and all security measures transferred to me and my DNA lock. They transfer to you when you get here.” A short pause. “Colonel Rhodes and Ms. Potts were with him.”

Steve let a minute pass before he spoke again, breathing deeply in and out as he ran and checking T’Challa’s ETA. It was sooner than he’d thought. Likely T’Challa had already known and been en route. “Tell me what we know about the threat,” he said.

 

There were any number of ways it might have happened, but only one way it did.

 

+1

The phone rang while Steve was in the shower. He could hear the tinny chiming of the default ringtone just as he finished rinsing the the shampoo from his hair, and he ran a hand across his face and back through his hair.

Steve stepped out of the shower, no need for a towel in the Wakandan heat, and went to the desk where the phone lay. It sat there by itself, as though nothing else had been allowed to take up residence on the table, the presence of the phone large enough to have taken it up completely.

The number on the screen was the right one, the only one Steve had programmed in. He hadn’t entered a contact ID, so the only other words on the screen proclaimed the origin of the call: United States: Possibly New York.

Steve picked up the phone and accepted the call, bringing it to his ear. “Tony?”

Tony’s voice on the phone had always been a little bit deeper than his voice in person. When Steve had asked about that, Tony had given him a long, confusing explanation that involved microphones and radio waves, and Steve had nodded his understanding mostly to make Tony stop talking.

His voice now was the same: deep and clear. It had that iron edge of business, with a softer core of self-deprecation. 

“If you were serious, we need you in New York,” Tony said.

Steve took a breath, accepting the censure for what it was, and moving on. “I’ll be there as soon as I can. Where should I meet you?”

There was a huff at the end of the line. Steve recognized that, too: exasperation, a dark kind of humor, and fondness. “You’ll know,” Tony answered, and the line dropped.

**Author's Note:**

> There is an alternate version of number 4 [available here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14098683). The alternate version is the original version, though it went highly off the rails of what I'd been intending to write (which is the version contained in this fic). The alternate number 4 is a standalone fic, and a bit of a fix-it.


End file.
